


Things Totally Platonic Friends Do

by MissModernMusicals



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-04-24 19:56:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14362500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissModernMusicals/pseuds/MissModernMusicals
Summary: Samuel Seabury has been the Reader's best friend since they started college, and they've been supporting each other's dreams, sharing stupid inside jokes that nobody else would understand, and having a myriad of dorky adventures ever since. They've settled into a rather comfortable routine as they embark on their adult lives, and despite their day-to-day struggles, things are going fairly decently....So why does he look so damn cute all of a sudden?





	1. Remember Each Other's Coffee Orders

Sitting at a small cafe, with an iced coffee and a vanilla macchiato, you glanced over your paperwork one last time, before reminding yourself that this was coffee time, and coffee time had a strict policy against stress. (As well as one against the word “moist”, but that was beside the point).

 

Yes, your bi-weekly coffee breaks with your best friend, Samuel, had kind of generated a lore. Tradition was to be respected and upheld, much like in the Fiddler song, and by this point, you had come to the knowledge of exactly how he liked his coffee. The now-infamous medium vanilla macchiato, in its unchanging glory.

 

And as you looked out the window, the drink’s recipient came into view, his bright eyes and bookish sweater an ever-present source of amusement to you. That was obviously par for the coffee time course as well. In fact, so were your dorky friend’s other quirks. How he’d eagerly babble about his writings, or how he’d always buy you a bagel if you hadn’t any time to pack lunch (you probably owed him at least a few hundred dollars in bagel money at this point.)

 

All of these things wouldn’t hold any significance to anybody else, but that didn’t matter. They worked in tandem to give coffee time its distinct flavor, and most of all, they held significance to you. The little quirks, while odd at first, had endeared themselves to you, and become charming garnishes to your best friend’s character. And you had to hand it to him, he was talented at that. He reminded you a bit of a puppy, the way he could burrow into your your compassion and melt away any apprehension without even trying. All he had to do was flash that smile, and he could probably talk you into anything (that was how you ended up seeing that acapella ABBA cover group, actually).

 

He was actually flashing that smile now, too, as he came over and settled himself in his usual seat. You slid over the coffee, and you swore to god, the smile somehow got _brighter_. How was that even possible? Either way, it shouldn’t be legal.

 

“You bought my coffee? You didn’t have to do that. Here. I insist, I’m paying you back.” He rummaged around in his wallet for cash. You quickly grabbed his hand, however and stopped him for a moment. “No, it’s fine, really! Besides, it’s the least I could do, considering how many bagels you’ve bought me.”

 

Shyly, he shrugged. “Well, I’m a firm believer that people shouldn’t skip meals. It’s not good for you.”

 

“Okay, _dork_.” you giggled, punching him in the arm playfully. But after a mockingly pointed glance, you revised your statement. “I mean, you’re not wrong, but it’s a pretty weird thing to have such a strong opinion on.”

 

“I don’t think it’s weird to care about your health!” he insisted with a firm, yet almost childish tone, which did little to help his point.

 

Fighting off an urge to smile and shake your head, you responded. “Alright, point received. Acknowledgement. Eye contact. Head nodding. Now let’s move on. How’s your writing been?”

 

“Well, the editing stage is never easy, but it’s rolling along.” He mumbled, sounding less-than-certain about his words. Suddenly, you became aware of his rumpled hair and the slight circles under his eyes. There was no doubt about it; he’d been on another writing spree, and it showed.

 

Noticing your intense gaze, Samuel cocked his head in confusion. “Alright, now you’re starting to weird me out…” he chuckled.

 

You did your best impression of a stern professor’s glare. “You’ve been writing late again, haven’t you?”

 

“I-I just thought that if I fixed it up again, maybe a publisher would actually…” he faltered sheepishly.

 

“I know it’s probably not much help,” you started. “But I think your writing is fine. Do whatever you think is best, but you’ve just got to keep going. After all, JK Rowling was turned down 12 times before she was published.”

 

His face softened again, into a rather sleepy, contented expression. “Thanks. I needed that.”

 

And as you noticed the way his head started to dip, you came up with a little idea. “Why don’t we switch drinks? I made them put a little extra boost of caffeine in mine. And I don’t really need it anymore- I’ve got enough energy already.”

 

“Sounds good. Though I must admit, I don’t usually drink anything without a wheelbarrow’s worth of sugar.”

 

With that, you grabbed the two drinks and switched them. Samuel picked yours up and took a small sip, and you picked up the vanilla macchiato and put it to your lips.

 

Sweetness. That was all you could really taste. And sure, you liked sweet things, but it was crazy, start-floating-from-the-table, nauseous-sweet. But you liked it. You probably wouldn’t be replacing your usual, mind you, but you might try it again sometime. It was nice, and the coffee was still warm.

 

But for some reason, your mind then decided to linger on the fact that you were drinking from Samuel’s coffee cup, and that your mouth was touching the exact place his did only seconds before. Heat bloomed in your cheeks at the rather-out-of-place thought. Samuel was a _friend_ , and while he was fairly attractive, and had a lot of good qualities, you held the same amount of attraction for him as you would for your favorite pajama pants.

 

So, determined not to pay attention to an intrusive thought, you dismissed it entirely, and instead turned your focus back to your friend across the table, who, remarkably, looked far more awake now.

 

“Feeling better?” you asked, trying to keep the lingering shakiness out of your voice. It sounded strange to your ears, almost like a different voice entirely.

 

Samuel nodded cheerily. If you showed any signs of behavioural difference, then he definitely didn’t notice.

 

“You alright? You look a bit flushed.”

 

 _Alright, never mind_.

 

He moved closer, hovering directly over your face concernedly. As one may expect, it did absolutely nothing to help your blush, only giving you the urge to crawl away from his intensely tender gaze.

 

But just then, a buzzing noise from your phone reminded you that you weren’t quite done work just yet. A quick glance let you know that the offending little sound was because of a series of texts from your co-worker, James.

 

**Jemmy: We’re in a bit of a situation. Thomas was eating macaroni in his office, and he didn’t know that the client is allergic to trace amounts of dairy.**

 

**Jemmy: Now the client’s on the floor, and Thomas is yelling and everyone’s yelling.**

 

**Jemmy: Oml cOME QUICK.**

 

“Sorry!” you squeaked out, sliding away from Samuel. “Duty calls. It’s Thomas again. But just remember, your book is gonna be great. You just need to go get ‘em, tiger.” you gently encouraged, giving him a fleeting pat on the back as you stood up. Tugging on your coat, you left the cafe, ready to head back to work. As you left, however, you caught one final glimpse of Samuel as he gave you a tiny wave.

 

All you could pay attention to, though, was the coffee cup, and how the residue of his lips had indirectly come into contact with yours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp. Here it is. Enjoy the coffee-themed fluff.
> 
> I thoroughly enjoyed writing this, to be honest; I love slow-burn pining and friends-to-lovers SO. MUCH. This is pretty evident to anyone who's read my stuff on Fanfiction. But aside, I hope you like this silliness, whomever chooses to read this (I assume there's, like, 5 of you. But I could be wrong.) 
> 
> And as always, constructive criticism is super welcome!
> 
> My next-in-queue is a Great Gatsby modern!AU, BTW.


	2. Do Activities Their Friend Loves (even when less enthused)

Samuel stood in the middle of the dance studio, fidgeting with his fingertips and pretending to look busy. A myriad of slim, athletic types were already draped across the room, all exuding a certain confidence that he was lacking.

Already, things were not looking good. And there’d be no telling what would happen when they actually started  _ dancing _ . They’d whisper amongst themselves, saying that someone like him had no reason to be here, that he was a joke. Of course, they’d be all polite smiles to his face, however, adding insult to injury. And even worse, they might even-

Without warning, an arm linked itself around his. Out of instinct, he nearly jumped, but he immediately calmed down when he saw it was you.

Taking a large swig from your water bottle, you grinned. “ You don’t need to look so tense, y’know. We’re practicing tap routines, not going into the trenches.”

“Yeah. But I’m fine. Really.” he chuckled. It nearly caught in his throat, but he forced it out nonetheless. He had to. Otherwise, you’d notice his nervousness and fuss over it, and the last thing he wanted to do was burden you. Especially after you’d been so excited about his coming to your tap studio.

In fact, he could still vividly remember the way you’d lit up when he agreed to come. You smiled like there was nothing else in the world, and your arms gestured like a wind-up doll as you eagerly babbled about every little detail you knew about tap dance. You were far more alive than you’d been in a while, having to deal with a job you never wanted, bills you had to pay, and a plethora of failed auditions. And all that with a brave face and steely determination, which he both truly admired and worried for immensely. To take away what little joy you had would be unforgivable.

“Great!” you beamed. “I know you’re gonna love it!” And suddenly, you had your arms wrapped around him in a tight hug. He stiffened slightly. He didn’t usually receive hugs, and you weren’t usually one to give many, either. What did one do in these situations?! He couldn’t just stand there!

So he settled on wrapping his arms around you in return. It wasn’t so awkward.  And if he didn’t move at all, he could just barely feel you fidgeting with excitement, shifting back and forth on your feet. The feeling warmed his very heart, and he felt a small smile form on his face.

By the time you’d pulled away, it had felt like the hug had been initiated ages ago, and yet, it was over far too soon, leaving Samuel feeling slightly cold and disappointed. It dawned on him how nice it felt to receive a hug after so long- a  _ real _ one, too, not one of those quick-pat-and-pull-away kinds of hugs. In fact, he would hug all the time if he could. There was just some unparalleled pleasantness to it, something unexplainable that could never be replaced by any words.

Of course, he’d never admit this out loud, because it was a pretty weird thing to say, especially in today’s society. Even though he wished stuff like that was more acceptable.

“You alright? We’re about to start.” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“O-oh! Me? I’m fine.” he blurted out. You raised your other eyebrow in skepticism, but oddly (and thankfully) enough, didn’t press.

Perhaps if he hadn’t been reeling from embarrassment, he’d find some silver lining in his gaffe. Like the fact that he was a shoe-in for the “Least Convincing Performance” award.

Or, the fact that the class had started, meaning nobody would be concentrating on his pink-flushed cheeks.

But, on the other hand, they might soon be concentrating on the dance novice who’d fumbled his way into an intermediate tap course. Because even if he stood far in the background, these rooms had  _ mirrors _ .

So all he could do was try to mimic whatever the person in front of him was doing, and hope he figured it out. It didn’t seem particularly hard yet, at least. All they seemed to be doing was alternating between toe and heel clicks.

So he followed them, and he was right. His shoes were making all of the expected noises; nothing to worry about whatsoever.

Then, came falaps. They didn’t seem too bad, and- wAITASECONDWHATARETHEYDOINGWITHTHEIRFEET?

It didn’t look possible. They looked like they were tapping their toes, and yet two clicks resulted from the movement. Was there an extra plate on the shoe that he didn’t know about? No, they  _ had _ to be using the other plate somehow. Gingerly, Samuel clicked from the toe plate to the heel. Much to his disappointment, only one sound resulted. And to make matters worse, they’d already moved on to something that looked vaguely like Irish dancing.

As he tried to mimic, he noticed (after nearly being kicked by the woman to his left) that the person in front of him was mirroring everyone in his row. And for some reason, it was a lot more difficult to accomplish when he was supposed to be doing the opposite of the person in front of him. So he just kind of stumbled through,  _ praying _ that people weren’t looking at him.

And luckily, they weren’t. At least not until everyone separated into two lines on opposite sides of the studio, to work on some sort of routine they’d started. As they danced, he could see every movement made by anyone on the other side. Which of course meant they could do the same. Letting out a shaky breath, he inched a foot out…

But he didn’t move. He  _ couldn’t _ . He didn’t know why; there didn’t seem to be anything wrong with him as far as he knew. Obviously, he was scared, but by now, that was a thing he knew how to live with. It was a part of his life, his job, his  _ very being _ . He’d been verbally attacked on his stances over certain issues rather frequently, but he’d never listened to their words, regardless how tense the confrontation. He knew fear as much as he knew a daily routine, but he’d always been able to handle it with dignity and stick to his principles. So why were things so different now, when there wasn’t even any danger?

His eyes suddenly found themselves glued to you. Thankfully, you were too absorbed to notice the sorry state he’d gotten himself into (a fact for which he was eternally grateful). In fact, you were in such a state of concentration, he’d be shocked if you could see anything at all. And the more he looked, the more he was drawn into your little corner.

The first thing he’d noticed about it was how different you looked from the rest of the dancers.

The others were flawless; they looked like they had just stepped off an assembly line, designed specifically with dance in mind. Their long, lithe limbs made graceful arcs and snapped into place with unparalleled precision, clearly demonstrating exhaustive years of committing every possible step to muscle memory. Every single echoing click made by their shoes was separate, crisp, and mesmerizing, standing out against their utter silence. There was scarcely a breath to be heard, for they were making their toil look effortless, without the betrayal of a gasp of air or even a single bead of sweat. Their faces only reinforced their stony facade, reading more like cool, haughty masks than real faces. Any emotion labeled “human” would have been gaudy, and therefore unacceptable. Samuel was both intimidated and enthralled by them, and he was certain that nothing else in this world could make work this intensive look like a force of nature.

And there you were, looking as if you’d come crashing and burning if you ever stopped. Your movements were feverish and desperate; controlling you rather than the other way around. Every step was like a punch, a “take that” to those who didn’t think you could complete it. You invested so much force into every step, it looked like you might explode at any second. And the ever-increasing rattle of your shoes didn’t exactly hurt the “time-bomb aesthetic” you were giving off.

You were in no way weightless or aloof. But that didn’t seem to matter when it really came down to it.

Because what it really came down to, was that you represented the toil, the pain, the  _ humanity _ . There was a story there, compelling in its sheer rawness and grit; the tiniest details alone within your face, your form, wrote immense paragraphs. Things like the way your eyes ignited with fire after a more complex step, or how your body curled in on itself slightly as you got faster- as if this was all too intimate to let out openly. And it was. You were allowing people to see so much of your desperation and insecurity, if they’d  _ just read between the lines and notice it _ . There was something truly beautiful about that level of unveiled flawedness. Something that made Samuel unable to tear his eyes away, for fear that your levels of realness would be lost forever as soon as you stopped moving.

You were a star for certain. And whatever was happening in the heads of all those casting directors who’d rejected you, Samuel couldn’t even begin to fathom.

“While it’s real romantic and all, you might be more successful at this if you stopped ogling your girlfriend and actually started dancing.”

Samuel blinked hard, finally noticing the man to his right. He’d been so wrapped up in watching you that he’d forgotten to do the  _ one thing he was supposed to do here _ . How did that even happen?

And then, the realization of the man’s word actually hit him. This man thought you were  _ his girlfriend _ . As in him; Samuel Seabury. Also known as your platonic life-partner, and never a smidge more.

Blushing slightly, he tried to rectify the situation: “Oh, we’re not dating! It’s a rather simple confusion, really, but we’re more so platonic life partners! A dynamic duo of sorts, if you will!”

... _ That was smooth, right? _

The other man simply gave a stiff nod, and went back to dancing, leaving Samuel to think further about the embarrassment of the situation.

His first thought, was that he couldn’t believe he referred to the two of you as “a dynamic duo.” He didn’t know where that even came from. He could say the same for the bizarre speech pattern he’d briefly acquired. It sounded as if he was the Doctor or something. But aside from his cringe-worthy word choice, his biggest concern was his complete and utter nervousness. He was never the best at awkward encounters, but the most he’d do normally would be to blush slightly and stumble over a word here or there. But right now, he was sweating profusely, his mind scrambled like eggs on Saturday morning, and his actions overridden by some creature determined to make the most embarrassing choices possible. And why?

Never mind, it was probably just because of the insinuation that you were a couple. It made sense, after all. That was an idea that had never even crossed his mind. You had been close since college, and in that span of time, not a single person asked that question. And it was so ridiculous and out of the question, he had no reason to think it. You were the perfect platonic dynamic, and nothing that felt remotely romantic had ever resulted (he had to thank the Lord for this, seeing as he became intensely terrified and tongue-tied around anyone he found remotely attractive). And besides, even if he wished for something more, you were so out of his league, he couldn’t even begin to describe.

So it was lucky that he definitely didn’t wish for anything.

Right?

But he had no time to elaborate on this thought process, because someone was calling for everyone to stop and drink water, and you had already found your way back over to him.

“How was it?”

Trying not to look at you- for that would surely confuse him more- he grinned a slightly painful grin.

“Everyone was so talented and graceful; I was too scared to even dance!”

“True enough.” you chuckled. “Look, I’m sorry for dragging you out here. I know dance isn’t your thing, and I don’t want you to feel coerced into anything you don’t want to do.”

“No, no! It was really nice.” Samuel protested. “I finally got to see you dance.”

“Pfft, you’re so sappy.” you jested, doing a terrible job at hiding the bashfulness in your voice.

He glanced over at your teasing, yet intensely touched smile, and knew, that at that moment, he was way in over his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go. I had a lot of fun playing with language in this one. As well as with the whole "novice joins a tap class" thing, which was based off of an experience of mine, actually.
> 
> Also, it might be a while before my next update, as I've got exams coming up; I'll be writing by late June, though. 
> 
> And of course, thanks to anyone who read this, and any constructive criticism is very appreciated!


End file.
